


Of Balls and Nurses

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon, Crack, Episode Related, Fluff, Humor, Points of View, Romance, Season/Series 04, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-05
Updated: 2007-07-05
Packaged: 2018-12-27 14:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12083061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: After 4x09. Brian is a moody asshole and Justin is determined





	Of Balls and Nurses

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: From Brian's POV  


* * *

"I need to go to work."

"You need to shut the fuck up and lie still."

"Someone has to _earn money_ in this house, Sunshine."

"Someone needs to _shut up_."

"Is that your only argument?"

"Yes."

You'd roll your eyes but he wouldn't see it anyway; his hair tickles the side of your jaw, but you're too worn out to push him away, or... you don't really want to push him away. What-the fuck-ever.

"Gotta piss. Is _that_ allowed?"

He shifts, lifts his head. Smirks.

"Sure."

You let him help you up, even let him walk you to the bathroom door. He starts slipping in after you, but you stop him with an arm around his waist.

"Do you mind?"

"Actually--"

" _Justin_."

He sighs and steps back, but his eyes never leave yours. Something pulses through you - and it's familiar, by now. You don't fight it any more, just let it wash over you for a moment, strong and warm, before scowling at him.

"Look, it's only a fucking _piss_. Don't get your boxers in a twist."

He rolls eyes at you and leans his shoulder against the frame, arms crossing over his chest in a semi-resigned, semi-irritated pose. You close the door in his face, but keep your eyes interlocked till the very last second.

*

"What the fuck is this? _Frog_ soup?"

"Close."

"Jesus--"

"C'mon, Bri. Be a good boy and open your mouth for me--"

"Fuck you."

"You'd fall asleep on me."

" _Fuck_. You."

"Yeah yeah, fuck you too. Now open your mouth."

You open your fucking mouth and he feeds you like you're five years old. You must really be fucked, since you're letting him do this. _Shit_. If it ever gets beyond these walls--

"You know, I was thinking about the new issue of _Rage_ ," he says thoughtfully. "In which Rage falls sick and JT has to take care of him--"

You choke on the spoon he's feeding you.

"Don't you _fucking_ dare--"

"Relax," he grins. "I was just kidding."

You glare at him. _The_ little shit.

"It's _not_ funny."

"It's not," he admits.

You roll your eyes. He puts the bowl with the soup away and looks at you.

"Wanna take a nap?" he asks.

"Wanna fuck off?" you suggest.

He shakes his head.

"You're awfully rude, Mr Kinney."

"And you're an _awful_ pain in the ass, Taylor."

He keeps looking at you and you keep looking back. You miss the way lights played in his hair when it'd been longer. But you'd be fucked before you ever admitted this to him.

"Maybe I should just leave your ass to die in solitude," he says.

"Maybe you should."

When he kisses you you close your eyes and breathe out into his mouth and fuck, there's nothing more you want right now than to spread him across your soft sheets and fuck him till he sees just how _fucking_ much-- You lift a hand and run it through his hair, cup the back of his neck, tilting his head to the side so you can deepen the kiss. He tastes of frogs. Guess he must've tried that shit before he fed you with it.

"Bri, you really should take a rest now," he says softly, pulling back and leaning his forehead against yours.

You lick your lips, then slowly move them to his ear. He smells good.

"Don't want no fucking rest. Want _you_ ," you whisper. It must be the damn painkillers talking.

He exhales, closes his eyes. His hand curls around your bare shoulder.

"What would you do to me," he mutters. 

You half-open your eyes, rest your chin against his temple.

"Would fuck you open with my tongue and my fingers, then shove my dick up your ass till I'm balls-deep, _just_ the way you like it," his breathing grows harsher and you know he's getting into it. You let your eyes fall close, "I'd ride you for hours. _Hours_. You've no fucking idea how much I'd missed you." His breath catches softly at that. His hand curls around the side of your neck, thumb touching your jaw.

"I could've been there with you, you know," he mutters.

You sigh, tilt your head away. "I didn't want that."

He pulls back, seeks your eyes. "Well, you're an idiot, Mr Kinney."

You look at him. "Wanna move your ass so I could get my beauty sleep?"

He gets up and at the last moment you manage to wrap your fingers around his wrist, halting him.

"I said, _move_. That's all, Taylor."

You pretend not to notice his smile while he curls around you, arm sneaking around your waist. You let his hand find yours and your fingers lace together, before you push your face into the pillow and let darkness envelop you.

*

He cooks you dinner that's been recommended on tv, following every tip the cook lady adviced.

"You're a good little wife, Taylor."

"I thought you said we weren't married."

He's got a point here. 

"It's not half-bad, you know," you slur anound your portion.

"I know."

"Really. And who the fuck raised you to be such an arrogant little shit that you are?"

"You did."

You put the plate away and rest an arm across the back of the coach, directly behind him. He shifts closer, resting his head back against your shoulder, and you let him. You've been allowing him an awful lot recently. Must be the fucking painkilllers. They fuck you up all right.

"What're we watching?" he asks.

"Dunno. _The L-Word_?"

"Huh. Isn't it about dykes or something?"

"No fucking idea."

"Well the l-word is _lesbian_ right?"

"Oh yeah? I thought they meant _licking_."

"I think they mean _love_."

You nudge his head with your nose.

"You're a dyke at heart, sonny boy."

He smiles.

"You think if you were a chick you wouldn't've a problem with voicing certain things?" he asks casually.

You let your head fall back, resigned.

"What the fuck kind of question is that?" you groan.

"Just a question," he shrugs.

"I don't have a _problem_ with voicing anything," you say.

"Yeah. Whatever."

You stare at the screen, grimly.

"You're an irritating little fuck."

"Vice versa."

On the tv some skinny chick is staring at the other two, obviously jealous. The other two dykes dance with each other and it eventually gets too much for the skinny one. She leaves. 

Justin says something, but you don't quite catch what over the dialogue.

"What was that?"

"... I'd still fuck you."

You frown. "What?"

"If you were a chick. I'd go straight for you."

You grin and press your forehead to his.

 

-end-


End file.
